


Just Friends

by scullyseviltwin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e09 Bartlet for America, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-02
Updated: 2004-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyseviltwin/pseuds/scullyseviltwin
Summary: A little blurb about Amy seeing Josh and Donna together.





	Just Friends

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Just Friends**

**by: ScullyAsTrinity**

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna, Amy  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, Josh, Amy  
**Category(s):** Angst  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Summary:** A little blurb about Amy seeing Josh and Donna together. 

She sees you there in the shadows, and exhales. The taste of the sight is bitter on her tongue like cigarettes, like vodka, like apprehension. 

Donna is dress in a silk cut green gown and you cannot help but think how your chest would fill it out so much better. She cannot help but think how flat Donna's hair is, can't stop the color that rises in her cheek when you touch her flat hair. 

Donna smiles at you, and she frowns. She seethes, careful not to draw any attention. She knows her breath would be wasted if she brought her objections to light, she knows that you would cast them aside with a flippant comment, an angered comeback. 

She sees you there in the shadows and she cannot understand, she cannot seem to fathom. She is sure that she sees Donna's breath hitch in her chest and is positive that she can recognize the longing that burns deep in her eyes. She can almost see it etched in Donna's soul, just as she can see it etched in yours. 

She has you writhing every night, and though she's sure she brings you to the most exquisite pleasure that you've ever had, she knows. She knows that you are not thinking about her. You're thinking of the blonde who you'd rather have in your bed. You will never tell Donna what you feel because you do not believe it is your place. You believe that she deserves far better. 

When she kisses you, all you can taste is stale bread, and want nothing more than the feeling of Donna's lips on yours. She can feel you needing and she tries to dig keeper, kiss harder, yell longer but she knows that it does nothing to abate the thoughts that are swirling in your head. 

When you taste her skin, it is as if it is out of a sense of duty, because you have to. You're sure you'd feel more if you could just let her in, but you can't. It would be far too crowded inside your heart if you did. 

It's not her place to stay, at any rate. 

She takes your arm in hers and feels the stiffness, feels the willingness to pull away. But she is your trophy, and you are hers. Both vying for the power, for the glory, for whatever benefits that can be reaped. 

Every night, when she kisses your skin, she wants you to feel pain. She wants to draw blood and tell her that that is what you make her feel like every day. You make her feel like drowning; you make her feel like she needs so much more. You were once her air, for a day or two, and then you became her pet. Then you became her prize. She became yours and you both know it. 

You can leave her in the middle of the night and although she wants to believe that she is hurt, she is not. There is nothing in between the two of you. You're each a substitute, in turn. 

She asks you straightforward. "Do you love Donna?" 

You look at her, bored. She knows that you know and you know that she knows but the both of you like the game. You think that the game could last just a bit longer. 

"We're just friends." 

And then you dance with her. Your hands on her silk covered hips, but you stare at the other figure, clad in the same exact silk as the one that you are mindlessly tracing now.


End file.
